


"I've Struggled With Fame"

by MerDub



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerDub/pseuds/MerDub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zayn struggles with being famous and kind of freaks out sometimes and suddenly Harry's not there to freak out with him and Zayn doesn't get it until Harry shows him how Louis takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I've Struggled With Fame"

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just busted this out in like, less than 2 hours and I have no idea where it came from except Zayn's new Fabulous cover "http://ontheteenbeat.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/zayn-malik-fabulous-400x510.jpg" and it's not beta'ed and it's probably not very good and there are a whole lot of run on sentences because when I just sit down and write something it sort of just gets very run-on-y like this sentence I'm writing right now. 
> 
> I made this all up in my head and any resemblance to real-life occurrences is purely coincidental.  
> Really.

It’s one thing that Harry and Zayn have in common. 

They both find themselves overwhelmed by all of it sometimes. 

For Harry, it’s the performances. 

It’s different for Zayn. Zayn loves being on stage, loves performing to huge crowds. It’s when things quiet down and he just wants to relax and have fun that the fame gets to him. Nothing about his life is private is anymore, and Zayn’s not sure he’s ok with that. He’s always been awkward and self-conscious, and growing up, his best coping mechanism was to always keep everything to himself. He never exposed his true self, it took a  _long_  time for him to open up to people, and he came across as being painfully shy. 

It’s true that being famous has helped him come out of his shell a bit, mostly out of necessity, he doesn’t want to be known as “the one who never talks” but he still struggles with the invasions of privacy that have become more of the norm than the exception. Unlike the others, when they have time off, Zayn hides out in his flat. He just doesn’t like being stopped in the streets. He really does love performing and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, but he wishes sometimes for the anonymity of being average. 

He and Harry stick together. They both struggle. 

Until one day, Harry doesn’t. 

Zayn has no idea what changes, but Harry gets up and performs, no shaking, confident and strong. And suddenly Zayn’s alone. 

They’re on tour, there’s fans everywhere, Zayn can’t even pop out for a fag. 

He tries to cope on his own, but he knows he can’t do it this time. He just can’t. He feels himself crumbling and there’s still screaming outside and he just wants to go back to Bradford. 

He nearly books a flight home, but he needs to know something first. 

Harry answers the door after the second knock and tugs Zayn into his room when he sees the look on Zayn’s face. 

“I don’t get it Harry” he practically wails out. 

“Get what?” Harry replies, confused, as he tugs Zayn into a hug. 

“You never freak out anymore, it’s like you’re cured of this crazy thing I still have going on in my head and I hate it and I can’t do it anymore and I just want to go home,” and Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Mate, calm down, you’re going to be ok, we’ll get you through this,” he tries to soothe, but he knows, Harry knows, words can only do so much. 

Harry does the only thing he can think of in that moment. He calls Louis. 

“Lou, I need you, I need you to help Zayn like you help me,” and Zayn should be puzzled but he’s worked himself into such a state that all he hears is girls outside, and the room is stuffy and he just  _needs a cigarette_. 

True to his word, Louis is there minutes later and he pulls Zayn into a hug and holds him tight and whispers to him and strokes his hair and tells him that he’s going to be ok but he has to trust him. 

Harry joins Louis and tells Zayn he needs to listen to Louis, that Louis helped him and he’s going to help Zayn too and Zayn is desperate, his chest is tight and he can’t breathe and he’ll do anything to make it go away. 

“Do you trust me Zayn?” Louis asks and Zayn nods and that’s good enough for him. 

“I need you to do everything I say, ok? Just trust me and listen to me.” Zayn nods again. 

“Zayn, go lie down on the bed, ok? Harry, you lie next to him,” Louis instructs them in a gentle but firm tone. They both climb onto the bed and arrange themselves comfortably. Louis can see the way Zayn’s wound tightly, his muscles tense under his clothes, and he urges Harry to remove them. When Zayn protests, Louis softly reminds him that he has to trust him. 

Harry tugs Zayn’s shirt over his head but Zayn swats him away from his pants and pulls them off himself. He should feel stupid, sitting there in just his boxers while the other two are fully dressed, but his brain is going a mile a minute and he can’t make it shut up long enough to even process that this is a weird situation. 

It’s then that Louis finally sits down on the edge of the bed, and tugs Zayn over and up so he’s lying face down on Louis’ lap. Harry scoots over so his face is close to Zayn’s and his long fingers run down Zayn’s defined cheekbone as he reassures him, 

“this is how Louis makes me feel better when I’m freaking out and we’re going to make you feel better now too,” 

and Zayn feels his boxers being pulled down his thighs but Harry’s still touching his face and whispering to him and what’s happening doesn’t totally register until the first smack lands on his left ass cheek, just hard enough to sting, and he cries out. 

And he knows he should yell at Louis and make him stop because this is wrong and it’s weird but before any of that can happen Louis lands another good one, this one on his right cheek, then two more in quick succession and suddenly Zayn is gasping and Harry’s fingers are in his hair and it feels really good and his arse is on fire but his chest feels a little less tight and he manages a deep breath and then he realises Harry is asking him if he’s ok and he just nods. 

Louis hits him again, a little harder this time, once on each cheek. He can breathe a little better. Louis moves down, slaps the backs of his thighs, Harry’s stroking his face and his hair and his neck, and his chest hurts even less. 

Louis keeps going, over and over on the same spots, and Zayn’s arse cheeks, his thighs, they’re on fire, but he can’t tell Louis to stop. He doesn’t want Louis to stop, and Harry’s still there and he’s still talking and Zayn doesn’t know what he’s saying but his voice is deep and slow and languid and finally Zayn’s thought are taking on the same pace, but Louis still doesn’t stop. He rubs a hand over the flaming skin on Zayn’s backside as he pulls his boxers off and then gently rolls Zayn onto the bed, the expensive cotton sheets feeling more like sandpaper on Zayn’s sensitive skin. 

Zayn kind of registers that his cock is hard but his brain is fuzzy and he only seems to be able to concentrate on the blood rushing through his body, the thrumming pain in his arse, and breathing, finally, breathing. 

Louis spread’s his legs, kneeling between them, and rubs his hands up and down the inside of Zayn’s thighs. Harry is still curled up against him, one hand rubbing soft circles onto Zayn’s tummy and the other scraping blunt nails over his scalp. 

Louis alternates between slapping the insides of Zayn’s thighs and rubbing over the reddened skin. Zayn’s legs try to close reflectively around Louis’ hips every time Louis hits him, and his cock twitches towards his stomach. There are tears rolling down Zayn’s cheeks now, but he still doesn’t ask Louis to stop. He feels Harry move and whimpers at the loss, but Harry continues to rub circles on Zayn’s stomach as he comes to kneel near Louis. The boys together push Zayn’s knees up towards his chest and Louis gives Zayn’s arse a good hard smack that draws a heavy sob from him, but no words. Louis fishes a small tube of lube from his pocket and coats his index and middle finger before sliding them over Zayn’s arse hole, teasing small circles before slipping one into him. 

Harry’s got the fingers of one hand tangled with Zayn’s and the other is still touching, stroking, rubbing him everywhere, over the red skin on his thighs, his stomach, the tear stains on his cheeks, and he’s still talking to Zayn, even though he knows Zayn’s not really listening to him. He knows he hears him, and when Harry asks if he’s ok, Zayn seems to register and nod, and that’s good enough. 

Louis’ finger is sliding in and out of Zayn’s hole, fucking him slowly and Zayn’s starting to wriggle his hips, trying to get more friction without making his fiery red arse cheeks sting even more, and Louis slides a second lubed finger into Zayn. He continues his maddening slow pace until Zayn sobs out a quiet “please” and Louis takes pity, speeding up. 

Harry’s eyes are fixed on Zayn’s cock, thick and flushed and leaking against his tummy and Louis knows how badly Harry wants to suck on it. He just nods at the younger boy and Harry whispers to Zayn, “gonna make you feel so good baby,” with a soft caress of his face before Harry slides down his body and flicks his tongue against the glistening head of Zayn’s cock.

He only teases for a moment and as soon as his pink lips wrap around the head of Zayn’s cock, Zayn cries out and he’s coming, thick spurts onto Harry’s tongue and it seems to go on forever. 

He’s finally spent, tear stains down his cheeks, small hitches that can’t really be considered sobs, a pool of come on his stomach and more on Harry’s chin. Louis goes to bring back a warm damp flannel and gently wipes down the over-sensitized boy before tossing it to the side and he curls up against Zayn’s right side, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s as they wrap protectively around Zayn and tug the duvet up around them. 

Just before he drifts off, Zayn mutters a nearly unintelligible, “thank you.”

The next day, his shoulders feel light, his chest feels loose, and his eyes sparkle. But damn, his arse hurts. 


End file.
